I had dreams of an older boy whose hands were larger than mine and an atypical gentle smile. Nothing stood out about him. He looked simple with basic jeans and a sweater. His dark brown hair resembled mine, uncolored and untreated. His eyes were a darker shade of brown. To me, he was my big brother.

     In the dreams, I noticed, he’d cautiously walk over largely rounded roots of the tree planted in front of my house, his crisp and clean black trousers riding up. He resembled a marching one-man-band as he lifted his knee-high with a hand casually stuffed in his pocket. He was without an instrument though. All he had was upturned cheeks as he made his way up to the porch.

     I waited for a while, sitting on the red-bricked steps of my porch.

Acorns riddled my yard regardless of the season or so I vaguely remember. This time it might just be fall or winter but it was definitely around noon. The orange flowers, lined across our small white plastic fence, were open and facing west indicating the time of day.

     I often enjoyed the sight of the sun-kissed flowers.

     He flexed his neck as he ran his hand behind it.

     The gray walkway pavement was cracked by overgrown weeds. Yet, he missed every tiny yellow dandelion.